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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765877">When You Looked My Way</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaquinn/pseuds/monaquinn'>monaquinn</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>WYLMW- Zukka highschool au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Avatar: The Last Airbender</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops &amp; Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/F, M/M, Ozai (Avatar) Being a Terrible Parent, Underage Drinking, all the good tropes, azula is gay and homophobic LMAO, kids falling in love, sokka being a SIMP, zuko has trauma sorry not sorry</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-06-17</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-07-03</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-04 07:13:29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>5</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>12,586</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24765877</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/monaquinn/pseuds/monaquinn</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Sokka is pretty sure that he is in love with the boy who tutors him after school. </p><p>Zuko is harboring a massive crush on the classmate he is tutoring. </p><p>Maybe, senior year is starting to take a turn for the better.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Aang/Katara (Avatar), Minor or Background Relationship(s), Sokka/Zuko (Avatar), Suki/Yue (Avatar)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>WYLMW- Zukka highschool au [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1821244</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>171</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1283</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. I Cannot Feel This Way So Soon</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>i'm so excited to write this one you guys</p><p>title and all chapter titles are from say it by maggie rogers, simply because the new girl in red cover of it is immaculate and i am a mere lesbian </p><p>also sokka has dyslexia in this, sorry percy jackson you have been usurped</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka is pretty sure that he is in love with the boy who sits in the desk in front of him in English class. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Or, in lust, at least. When it comes down to it, Sokka simply is unable to help himself. The boy is so <em>pretty </em>in the purest sense of the word. And he just cannot stop looking. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He has shaggy black hair that bushes against the nape of his neck, and the beginning of a tattoo barely peeks out of the collar of his shirts. Sokka can’t quite figure out what it is depicting, though. When he takes notes, he prefers pen, and Sokka often wishes that he could be a writing utensil <em>(just to be held in those slender hands).</em> His skin is so pale it’s almost alabaster and he has a large (but not unwelcoming) scar over his left eye. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka spends most of his class time imagining the ways the scar came to be. Sometimes the stories are sensible and realistic (a cooking accident, perhaps), but they verve into the extreme and sometimes fantastical when he gets too caught up in his admiration (saving puppies from a burning building or riding a beautiful red dragon into the sun.) </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">To be fair, english isn’t a very interesting subject in his opinion. Especially with someone like Mr. Pakku teaching it. Sokka has a theory that man has never had fun for a single minute in his miserable life. He teaches the material in a constant monotone, making it even easier for Sokka to shift his attention to the beautiful boy in front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka knows for certain that they had never shared a class before (he would’ve remembered a face as gorgeous as that), and wonders if the boy is a new student or an underclassmen. One of the things Sokka prides himself on most is that he knows the name of every single kid in the senior class of his high school, and considers himself a people person. So it doesn’t sit right that he knows absolutely nothing about the object of his affection for the past five months. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was January already? <em>Jesus.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Winter break had come and gone and Sokka had completed none of the required work for the class. Maybe, he should pay attention, just once. Get a head start on the new year. Prying his eyes away from the person in the desk before him, he glances at the chalk board where Mr. Pakku is scratching the words ‘POP QUIZ’ in big letters. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Well, fuck. What book were they reading again? </em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <em>__________________</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zuko. His name is Zuko.” Suki states, crunching loudly on a potato chip. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s the name of the guy you are currently trying to find on Instagram.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka quickly exits out of the app interface. “What, you physic now or something?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just not blind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This elicits a bark from Toph as she plops down in the sit next to him. “Does Snoozles have a crush?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“An infatuation is more like it. Whenever I walk past Pakku’s class it looks like Sokka’s eyes are going to melt out of his head staring at the new kid.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His defenses up, Sokka snarks back, “How would you know? You have math when I have english. Thats on like- the other side of the building.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suki bats her heavily lined eyes. “Math is the perfect time for a cigarette break in the bathroom, and I prefer to take the long way, which conveniently passes right by Mr. Pakku’s classroom.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raises his hands in admittance. “Fine. Guilty.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“HA! Knew it.” She slams her hands against the lunch table. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unable to exert any self control, he finds himself prying for new information. Suki is able to tell him very little, just that he moved here over the summer and that she sometimes sees him working at the boba place in town that just opened up, The Jasmine Dragon. She notes that it doesn’t look like he has many friends, but one time she smoked a blunt with him under the bleachers during a soccer game. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey! You promised you wouldn’t smoke during my games!” Sokka pouts. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She rolls her eyes. “I crossed my toes, Mr. Star Player.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka never fit the typical mold of the jock stereotype. Sure, he got along with his teammates and went to parties and stuff, but being the only not-white kid (and bisexual) in the group wasn’t all that it was cracked up to be. He wasn’t out to the other boys on the soccer team, and much preferred the comfort of his regular friends during the off-season. He loved his tight-knit group dearly, and wouldn’t trade it for the world. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had met Suki halfway through his freshman year, when he twisted his ankle and had to sit out of gym class for two weeks. Suki always skipped and sat on the bleachers, drawing pictures of naked women in a worn out sketch-book that smelled vaguely of pot. They became fast friends. Sokka admired her, as she embodied everything he always wanted to be, so totally herself and unashamed of it. She was out and proud, always sporting a rainbow pin on her jean jacket. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two of them were lone agents for awhile, until Suki started dating Yue at the start of sophomore year. Yue was in remission for cancer, and wore this cool white wig that Suki was absolutely obsessed with drawing. They were an odd pair, the gentle and the rough, but they evened each other out perfectly. Embarrassingly enough, Sokka and Yue had hooked up at a halloween party the year prior.<em>“I was dressed as Han and she was LEIA! God Suki, it just had to happen that way!” </em>However once the awkwardness was put aside, the three of them were inseparable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang, Katara, and Toph had joined a year later, when they were freshman and Sokka was a junior. At first it had been annoying, his little sister and her gross boyfriend following him around, but the little buggers had grown on the two older girls, and they were quickly enmeshed into the group. Now, Sokka couldn’t imagine high-school without them there. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sure, he liked his jock friends, but nothing could compare to the acceptance he found with these guys. (They all had a rainbow emoji after his name on their phones, it made his heart warm.)</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we stop talking about Sokka’s crush, and more about the fact that he texted the group chat during second period that he got a zero percent on his english quiz?” Katara butts in, ever the pragmatist. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yue purses her brow. “How did you manage to do that? Let me see the quiz.” He hands the quiz over and she takes it in her delicate hands. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maybe you could tutor me!” He exclaims, that would be perfect. Everything about Yue was gentle, like water ebbing on rocks in a stream, she would be the best tutor, never pushing too hard. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I don’t know if I can help you there…” Yue says, clearly looking distressed in the face of his quiz. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Snatching the paper out of her girlfriends hands, Suki looks over the quiz. “Sokka. The question was; <em>‘In the space below, please describe the plot of Macbeth by William Shakespeare.’ </em>You wrote: ’<em>The plot of Macbeth is simple. It is about a boy whose Uncle is sleeping with his mom, but the boy wants to sleep with his mom. This makes the boy very jealous. So the boy kills everyone. Also, his girlfriend becomes a nun or drowns herself or something.’ </em> You are beyond help.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? I looked it up on Spark Notes!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka…” Katara sighs, “That’s Hamlet, not Macbeth.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are we really gonna call whatever that was Hamlet<em>?</em>” Toph scoffs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka glumly looks down at the linoleum floor of the cafeteria, scuffing his worn down blue converse against it. He wasn’t stupid, he swears. His dyslexia just made it a bit harder to focus on the board during the subjects he didn’t excel at. It also wasn’t helping that the most gorgeous human to ever walk the face of the earth, Zuko, his brain supplied, sat a mere seven feet in-front of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang pokes him, taking him out of his self deprecating haze. “I’ll go with you to Mr. Pakku’s after school to help you ask for a tutor!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so they do. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka’s tutor is going to meet with him every Monday and Thursday in the library after school for one hour, to go over material and answer any question’s that he might have. He initially protests, as he has to drive Katara home, but Suki offers to drive her home on those days (she already hauls Toph around, so the extra addition will be no problem, she says). </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s going to be fine, Sokka thinks. Maybe, if he swallows his pride and goes along with the tutoring, he’ll have a better grade to show for it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <em>__________________</em> </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The library is cold and quiet. And his tutor is late. This sucks. It shouldn’t be hard to for his tutor to spot him, as the place is pretty much empty spare the librarian and two dweeby freshmen arguing quietly over what Animal Crossing villager is the best. Sokka lets out a shiver and pulls his worn blue sweatshirt over his head. Why was this the only room in the entire school with AC? And why is it blasting in the middle of fucking winter? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He pulls out his phone and begins to type out a text to the group chat. </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"><b>TO: suki’s bitches :)</b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:05 pm) </b>nobody is even here yet </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:05 pm) </b>please remind me why i signed up for this </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>FROM: katara </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:06 pm) </b>Because you literally got a ZERO on a easy assignment, Sokka. You need a tutor. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>FROM: aang </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:06 pm) </b>they’re only 5 min late. your tutor will show up! </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>FROM: suki </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:08 pm) </b>hey lover boy!</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:08 pm) </b>guess where we are????? ;)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A photo appears. Suki, Toph, and Katara are smiling, heads pressed together, holding up cups of Boba tea with the icon of a dragon on them. He recognizes the logo even though he has never been before, and whines to himself. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>TO: suki’s bitches :)</b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:10 pm) </b>REALLY? WITHOUT ME?!?!?!? </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>FROM: toph </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:10 pm) </b>I don’t think your boyfriends working today. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>FROM: katara</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(3:11 pm) </b>It’s just some sweet old guy behind the counter. I think he’s the owner. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka begins to type out a response, trying to convey just how much he wants to try and go to The Jasmine Dragon to see Zuko, but not wanting to sound like a lovesick idiot in front of his friends. He is on his third draft of the text message when there is a slight shift in the chair next to him and a raspy voice says “I’m so sorry I’m late, my sister called and I…. Uh- it won’t happen again.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looks up, and <em>oh my. </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There are those golden brown eyes that he spent so much time fantasizing about. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All the thoughts in his brain come to a screeching halt. He is screaming at himself to say something witty, but all that can come out is a stumbled, “A-ha. Sisters, am I right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Wow. Could he sound anymore idiotic? He scolds himself, but decides that he has to just keep rolling on. “I’m Sokka. You’re Zuko, right?” He asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other boy quirks an eyebrow, his mouth opening in a small circle, surprised. “You know my name?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, duh.” Sokka replies, despite the fact that he literally just learned Zuko’s name a few hours ago, “I know everyones name, especially people I sit behind in class.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <em>Was that creepy? It could have came off totally creepy. </em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko doesn’t seem to notice Sokka’s internal panic attack and plops his backpack, which is more of a shoulder bag, onto the table. He pulls out a worn copy of Macbeth, the pages dog-eared and thin. It isn’t the school issued copy, a white cover instead of a red. There is a sketching in pencil across the top that reads; ‘actors script, Ursa’ in jagged lettering. “So… um. I heard you’re struggling with the play.” He says, not making eye contact. </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Sokka knew that the Zuko was shy because he hardly ever raised his hand in class and kept entirely to himself, but hearing him speak confirmed any doubts that may have been there. His voice was quiet and guarded, but not unwelcoming. There were hints of warmness that broke through the cold exterior. </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I get distracted.” Sokka quips. “It’s embarrassing, really, but I swear I’m not like stupid or anything. I’m really good at math and science but I got dyslexia, so the words kind of all blur together. Especially this… since its like old english and stuff.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s actually modern english, just a earlier form.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko turns pink. “Sorry! I didn’t mean to sound really rude, it just came out that way. It’s a common misconception.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problem man. Whose Ursa?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko bristles at this comment, clearly Sokka hit a nerve. “My mother. She is- <em>was- </em>an actor.” He looks away, clearly upset. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh. He understands immediately. Images of his own mother play through his mind. She had died in a car accident when he was just a kid. Usually, he would offer up this type of information to try and make the other party feel better, but he doesn’t want to over-share or scare Zuko away. Instead, he decides to turn the conversation back to its original roots. “So, whats it about?” He asks, pointing at the book. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko regales the tale for him in the library that afternoon. The way he tells it, it isn’t boring or stuffy like the Spark Notes or Mr. Pakku’s lectures, its actually kind of riveting. It’s a story of magic and horror and lust. There are witches and sword-fighting, two topics Sokka had found very interesting in his youth. And, at the heart of it, its a story of trying to prove your worth, and what lengths some troubled people will go to achieve it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Best of all is the way Zuko explains it. His reserved air melts away. He tells the story soft and low, like a campfire tale at dusk. There is a light in his eye that is just so gosh-darn pretty, and his perfect lips make the words feel electric coming out of his lips. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka hates that he’s staring, but he just can’t help himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Any question that he has, Zuko answers it without any judgment, and the hour passes easily. Sokka actually takes notes, <em>fucking notes! </em>He finds himself racing to keep up with how fast his pencil is going, wanting to have a written documentation of every word that drips off of Zuko’s tongue. And when the session is up, Sokka wishes he could hit the rewind button. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko packs his bag wordlessly, but catches Sokka’s eyes when he mutters the phrase “See you on Monday?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka nods eagerly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, he is so totally <em>fucked. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Every Evening, Every Time, I Keep Replaying In My Mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>- i posted this so fricken fast goddamn something about this story makes me so excited to write!<br/>- brainstorming ideas during my ten hour shifts during the day helps too i guess</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko knows that the waiting room of a psychiatric office is not the proper place to be having a romantic fantasy about someone he just met yesterday, but he never was one to have good impulse control. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why did the boy who he just started tutoring have to be so fucking attractive? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He had always noticed Sokka in the hallways and in class, registered that he was just one of those people who was born lucky in the looks department, but it never made too much of an impact. Sokka was a jock, a soccer player at that, and everyone seemed to like him. He bounced between the team and what looked to be a close group of friends like it was easy, just another part of his busy day. Making friends wasn’t so effortless to Zuko. Because of this, he just filed all thoughts of Sokka to the ‘never going to happen’ folder in the back of his brain. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However, sitting in close proximity to him for a little over an hour yesterday made that near impossible. He had never noticed until then just how <em>blue </em>Sokka’s eyes were, how they shifted color slightly depending on where the light reflected, widening whenever he found something particularly interesting. He had never noticed how firm is arms were, how kind his laugh sounded, or how cute he looked when he furrowed his brows. Zuko hadn’t noticed a lot of things. He needed to stop, stop thinking of Sokka in a romantic context, or else he was going to wind up in a lot of trouble. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Uncle Iroh had pestered Zuko to sign up for the school tutoring program, saying it wasn’t good for him socially to spend every day working at the shop. Zuko had protested, he didn’t mind working, really. It was actually kind of relaxing to make the tea, as long as there were no particularly annoying customers that day. However, Uncle had won out in the end. He said that Zuko needed more time to interact with kids his own age, and tutoring would present that opportunity. Thus, a tentative schedule was born. On Mondays and Thursdays he would tutor Sokka, on Wednesdays, Meng, an annoying girl with pigtails and braces who he could never quite get to stop talking, and he would work at the shop the rest of the days. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Today, however, was an exception. Today he was going to see Azula. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets to see his sister twice a month, in two very different settings. The first visit they are able to socialize as unsupervised as possible, while the second is a full on therapist session. He much prefers the second session, as there is someone to facilitate the awkward conversation between them. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The boundary between the two of them is slowly starting to crumble, Zuko thinks optimistically, even though it’s a tricky situation. Zuko and Azula had went into the custody of Uncle Iroh last fall, after the arrest of their father. He had been convicted for tax fraud, which Zuko personally thought of as an injustice to his mother, who had died by Ozai’s hand. The first year with Uncle was hard, Azula constantly lashing out, until she had a full on breakdown and had to be sent away. Uncle used what little money Ozai had left them to pay for the best treatment possible, and they moved halfway across the country so they could remain close to Azula. Now, she was just a hours drive away.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kind voice of the receptionist calling his name snaps him out of his thoughts. He stumbles up to the counter, signs in, and lets himself be guided to the veranda outside of the building. The mental-health clinic had a homey sort of look to it, clearly trying to present itself as a warm and cozy place of healing. Zuko prefers this much better to the other hospital Azula had stayed at in their old hometown, all sharp edges and white walls. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Azula is sitting at a round table towards the back of the porch. She is sporting her usual boyish outfit, a pair of basketball shorts and a t-shirt with some character from a TV show he had never heard of. Azula had drawn devil ears on the shirt in felt pen, making the character have a demonic expression. Her eyes meet his, and he can tell that she is happy to see him by a barely-there twinkle in her eyes. He had gotten the hang of reading her throughout the past few years. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Do you have it?” She asks as he slides down next to her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods, dangling the small plastic bag filled with her iPod touch and earbuds. She grabs it happily, and begins to fiddle with the device. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Azula was not allowed to have her iPod at all times, since the therapists were worried about her using the materials to harm herself. However, when Zuko came to visit, he was permitted to bring it, so long as they were watched over by a nurse at another table, just out of sight. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Losing her music was very hard for Azula. When they lived together, the wires hanging from Azula’s ears were facets of her character, always tuning out the outside world as best as she could. When their relationship became especially volatile, their dad pitting them against each other, he was thankful for them. But now, he saw them as they really were, they were her escape. He wished he could have one as effective as she did. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">More often than not, they would spend these visits pressed next to each other, sharing the earbuds and listening to whatever Azula’s selection of songs for the day was. It started of as the loud girl punk stuff that Zuko took no enjoyment in listening too, but Azula seemed to eventually soften and start playing music that she thought he would like. At first it bothered him, not getting to talk to her, but he was quick to figure out that Azula could express herself much better through the music than in words. He was able to pin what he sister was trying to say, and sometimes even help her based on the song choice of the day. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Azula passes him the right earbud and he pops it into his undamaged ear. They have to sit huddled, close, so the wire doesn’t pull one of them away from the music. The beginning notes of “Linger” by The Cranberries start to play and Zuko closes his eyes, allowing him to escape into the music. It’s a song he knows well, their mother used to play it all the time in the car when they were children. The lyrics sing of a love lost, and he feels something inside him, gently prodding him to push farther today, to try and reconnect. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When the song comes to a close, he removes the device from his ear, and places his hand gently on his sisters shoulder. “Do you want to talk about it?” He asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They have never talked about the night he got his scar. It happened two years ago, when Zuko was a sophomore and Azula was in eighth grade. He had blamed her for it for so long, but deep down he knew that she was only thirteen at the time. It wasn’t her fault. It was his fathers, and his fathers alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scoots away from him as if he had just hit her. She places her hands on the table, takes a deep breath, and asks, “What makes you think I want to?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The song? I don’t know… but you can, if you want to.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There is nothing to say.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You know,” he sputters out, unable to stop himself, “I’m not mad at you for that night. I’m not. I promise.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stiffens her shoulders, and Zuko knows he lost whatever chance he had at a breakthrough. Azula is able to put her wall up in a matter of seconds. “Whats the problem Zuzu, do you have a crush or something? Ready to move on?” She sneers. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clenches then unclenches his fist, takes a deep breath, and says, “Maybe. I dunno. Yeah.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Azula laughs. It is not a genuine one, it’s a mean haughty sound, the laugh she used to give him all the time when they were children. “Thats cute Zuzu. Just try not to get <em>burned </em>this time.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He snatches the bag that contains the iPod, and marches away from his sister, heading towards his parked car. Session be damned, he’s done for the day. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>__________________</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The next few weeks pass uneventfully. He goes to school, work, and tutors Meng all with ease, blocking out any feelings he may have about his sister, or the cruel words she spat at him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tutoring Sokka is difficult though. <em>Very </em>difficult. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Its hard for him to ignore his feelings, even though it’s just a small crush, because Sokka is so Goddamn likable. Zuko tries to avoid Sokka’s charismatic pull, but its no use. The attraction is inventible. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka is so much kinder to him than anyone else at school. Its not like Zuko is being bullied, no kids shove him into lockers at the end of the day or anything like that, but there are whispers. He had heard a few of the rumors about how he got his scar, and none of them are very good. The most popular one seems to be that he’s a pyromanic, and lit his old house on fire, forcing his family to move. It stings, but he finds if he doesn’t look too hard at anyone he is pretty much left alone. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The only person he as really talked to (other than Sokka) is Suki, a standoffish lesbian girl who he sometimes smokes a blunt with under the bleachers during games. He vaguely registers that she's one of Sokka’s close friends, but their conversations never go anything beyond small talk about classes and stuff. He likes her, though, and they have a mutual respect for each-other. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But Sokka, Sokka is different. Sokka tells him silly anecdotes about his day and asks earnest questions about Zuko’s. He brings Zuko the shitty cafeteria coffee to the tutoring sessions just because he ‘looked tired in class today.’ Zuko knows deep down that these are just normal gestures, just Sokka trying to be nice, but it makes his heart thump a little faster in his chest. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sometimes, when they have a little extra time, Sokka helps Zuko with his homework. Any tact Sokka is missing in the literary fields is made up by his sheer knowledge in math and science. He flies through Zuko’s trigonometry work, giving helpful tips that Zuko remembers days later when he is staring down a particularly hard test. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They make a good team, bolstering the other where they are weak. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>__________________</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Its a particularly slow Tuesday night at the Jasmine Dragon. The shop is a half-hour away from closing, and he hasn’t seen a customer in twenty or so minutes. He has tried to read a book, some stupid thing on chess strategy Uncle left on the counter, but all it did was make his eyes hurt. He ended up resorting to his phone, mindlessly scrolling through his twitter feed to see if anything interesting happened today. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If he closed the shop a little early, Uncle wouldn’t care, right? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He gets up and begins to walk to the front of the store to switch the open sign to closed when a light blue Subaru screeches up to the curb. Sokka gets out and walks to the door, swinging it open. He is wearing his usual outfit, his favorite blue sweatshirt and a pair of blue jeans. Zuko can’t help but think that he looks incredibly handsome. “Hey, you guys closed?” he asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko feels butterflies rise up in his stomach and a heat along his cheeks. “No.” He rushes his words way quicker than he needs too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Cool. I’ve never been here before.” Sokka states, “What do you recommend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, um, I’m pretty boring actually. I just get the classic milk tea.” Sokka seems like the type of guy to get the most elaborate thing on any menu he is presented with, so Zuko thinks that his suggestion will most likely fall on deaf ears. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Therefore, he is surprised when Sokka replies, “Sounds good. I’ll get that.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko makes the drink swiftly, trying to ignore the way his hands shake slightly whenever Sokka says anything, and hands it over to him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“How much?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” He blushes. “On the house.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka slumps down on a barstool near the counter. “Nah, man. You can’t do me like that. It’s the least I can do, with you tutoring me and stuff.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, its technically my job to tutor you. Even though I don’t get paid.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, whats up with that? Pakku should totally pay you. You’re basically doing his job for him. And it’s not like I make it easy for you, I’m a real piece of work in the english field.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shifts his weight, swinging himself up so he could sit on the counter. It isn’t something he usually does, and it feels wildly unprofessional, but it gives him a better angle to talk to Sokka, so, theres that. “Thats not true. You can be insightful when you try.” He means it, Sokka sometimes makes points about the books they are reading in class that are totally unique, coming up with things that have never been said before. It’s a skill Zuko wishes he had. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Gee. Thanks.” Sokka laughs heartily. “My sister is always telling me that, that I’m really good when I put my mind to it.” He slurps his drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“She’s right.” Then, as an afterthought, “You have a sister?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, Katara. She's a sophomore, bit of a kiss-ass, but I love her all the same.” Sokka smiles fondly, his eyes softening. It’s an expression Zuko has never made when thinking about Azula, and a sort-of jealousy surges through him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He says it before he can think of the repercussions. “She’s the same age as my sister.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! Would I know her?” Sokka asks, perking right up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Running his hands across the countertop, Zuko sighs. He backed himself into a corner, and would have to come clean. “She’s…. troubled.” he says, choosing his words very carefully. “Our father was very abusive, and our mom died at a pretty young age, so thats why I live with my uncle. Azula, my sister, she didn’t take the change of guardianship very well. She had to be sent away. I see her sometimes, but yeah, it’s probably not the same as you and your sister.” Zuko didn’t expect to say so much, he never talks about his personal life with anyone except Uncle, and he feels his anxiety spike. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Curiously, he raises his eyes to meet Sokka’s, bright, blue and full of empathy. “Wow… that’s heavy.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have laid that all on you.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No!” Sokka stands, moves towards the counter, and places his hand gently on Zuko’s shoulder. “I’m glad you told me. You're my friend, I want to know about your life.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh. <em>Friends. </em>The word bubbles in his stomach like a fizzy drink, eliciting a small smile on his face. Sokka sees him as a friend, not just a walking english textbook. Sokka wants to know him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka continues the conversation, telling Zuko about his family. He learns that Sokka’s mom died in a car crash when he was little, and how he relies on his sister heavily for advice and support. Sokka tells him about playing soccer, his friends, and even his sexuality (bisexual! Zuko can’t help but feel a small glimmer of hope.) In-between anecdotes, Sokka asks questions about Zuko’s life and he finds them easy to answer, and they swap stories into the night, long after closing time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka never probes, never asks about the scar, never pushes too far. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After, Zuko gives Sokka his number, under the guise of it being for tutoring purposes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He feels happy for the first time in awhile. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i have a bunch of notes here so buckle up<br/>- the scene with azula is loosely inspired by the Sharp Objects miniseries on hbo (a personal favorite of mine)<br/>- just the part with sydney sweeny and the headphones if you watched it<br/>- also.. now that i think abt it amma and azula are freakishly similar lmao<br/>- i love these boys! i hope you to do </p><p>please please please if you liked it leave a comment or kudos it means SO much to me!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Too Much, And Too Little To Hang Onto</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>hey! new chapter alert! for some reason my end of chapter notes are acting all wonky at the end of the first two chapters, so if any of you know how to fix that please let me know in the comments below, thanks! </p><p>btw... holy dialogue batman! brace yourselves.</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka groans, rolling over to smash his face into Suki’s pillow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just text him already!” Toph commands, clearly fed up with his constant whining. “You like him, you text him. It’s not that hard!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He flips her off, face still buried in the cushion. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t understand why you’re acting like this, you are never shy when it comes to flirting,” Yue says contemplatively. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph snorts, “Sokka fucks everything he sees!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not funny, Toph!” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t get you’re panties in a twist Snoozles, I speak the truth.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They are packed into Suki’s room, spending an average Wednesday afternoon together. Sokka has claimed the bed, much to Yue and Suki’s dismay as he his encroaching on their prime cuddling space, but he can tell that they don’t mind <em>that much. </em>The three of them are squished together, three peas in a pod. Suki is laying in Yue’s lap, Yue twisting her fingers through her girlfriends dark hair. Why can’t Sokka have that? He thinks glumly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The other couple in the room aren’t making him feel that much better either. Katara and Aang are sharing a beanbag chair, Katara showing him some video that is playing on her phone. The only other single, Toph, occupies the other (much larger) chair. Her tiny body practically disappears in the folds of the fabric, but she insists that its her favorite spot and none of them have the heart to take it away from her. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka pouts. He’s never been in a real relationship before, just a long slew of endless flings and hookups that never amounted to anything much. He probably uses Tinder more than Instagram, for Gods sake. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You guys don’t get it. I really like him…” He trails off, beginning to think of Zuko. Visiting The Jasmine Dragon on a whim last night was one of his better ideas. Usually he was so confident, but when in Zuko’s presence he got nervous, his heart thumping loudly in his chest under the other boys gaze. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yesterday, a small crack had been made in the thick wall that Zuko had put up around himself. He was so shy, never telling Sokka any more personal information other than what was absolutely necessary. But, last night, he was more open, telling Sokka about his family. The situation didn’t seem good, and he mentioned an abusive father, but didn’t elaborate. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Is that why Zuko had his scar? A small bubble of anger rose up in his chest, and he willed it down. No father would ever do that to his son. The scar must have been the outcome of an accident, right? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was no use to dwell on it now, he told himself. Zuko wasn’t his to protect. However, if he ever got the chance, he would stop Zuko from ever feeling hurt ever again. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey! Lover-boy!” Suki calls out, “Your eyes are practically glazed over.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Toph chortles, “Man, he’s whipped. Can we talk about more important things than Sokka’s impossible crush?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara looks up, finally participating in the conversation. “Like- what do you guys wanna do this weekend? I’m probably not free Saturday night because Aang is coming over.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka butts in, “Yeah, Dad’s not gonna be home for the weekend. Katara’s super excited because Aang can hang out in her room with the door closed.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At this, Aang and Katara both flush the brightest shade of red he’s ever seen. Serves them right, if Sokka was going to be miserable and embarrassed then they should be too. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait-“ Suki gets the mischievous look in her eyes that can only mean that she's up to no good, “Your house is open over the weekend?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He knows where this is going. “Yeah, party?” He asks his best friend, cutting to the chase. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She gleams. “Party.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sits up. A good drink with his friends will get his mind off things (things being the most perfect boy in the entire solar system being just so slightly out of reach.) “You’re buying.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sounds good.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara opens her mouth in protest, gaping like a fish out of water. “Dad would kill us.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ve done it before.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah. Remember when Dad drove you up to summer camp the two summers ago and slept in a motel for the night?” Katara nods. “I threw a huge rager. The whole grade still talks about how Haru jumped off the roof and broke both of his arms.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That was YOUR party?” Toph gasps, her eyes shining. “Everyone talks about that. You’re my hero, Sokka, my absolute hero.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can we keep it small?” Katara asks, biting her lip anxiously. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods before he can stop himself. A small night with friends would honestly be preferred, they haven’t all gotten drunk together in a while, at least not with the freedom to be as loud as they want. Yue voices exactly what Sokka was thinking, and most of the group agrees with the sentiment, Suki and Toph only putting up a brief fight before caving. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why don’t you invite Zuko?” Aang asks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Aang is brilliant. Aang deserves a Pulitzer Prize for this novel idea. Aang is smarter than Newton. Aang is a god among men. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka squeals, running up to hug Aang for his sheer genius. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh god,” Suki sighs. “Aang, I think you broke Sokka.” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <em>__________________</em> </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka still hasn’t invited Zuko to the party. It’s eleven at night, and the gang has all gone home to to their respective houses. He is just so inexplicably nervous. He doesn’t get it. Usually, he is an easy flirt, sliding into all sorts of peoples DMs with moderate to high levels of success. But, for some strange reason, he can’t bring himself to text Zuko. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What is wrong with him? Theres this unexplainable affection, something drawing him to Zuko like a moth to a flame. He doesn’t want to mess it up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lies down on his on his bed, opening up his message app. Well, he has to bite the bullet at some point. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>TO: zuko </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:04 pm) </b>hey! </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The response pings back almost immediately. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>FROM: zuko</b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:04 pm) </b>Who is this? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Oh, well, shit. Of course Zuko didn’t have his number yet. Way to go, Sokka. Way to go. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>TO: zuko </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:05 pm) </b>sorry fuck </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:05 pm) </b>it’s sokka!!! </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:05 pm) </b>remember me? ;)</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sue him for the winky face. He may be very nervous, but that doesn’t stop him from being a shameless flirt. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>FROM: zuko </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:06 pm) </b>Oh. Hello!</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:06 pm) </b>What’s up? Do you need any help with the homework? </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka’s heart clenches at the perfect grammar and sheer professionalism of the conversation. God help him, Zuko was so socially awkward and it was <em>so damn cute. </em></span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>TO: zuko </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:08 pm) </b>do i need to be struggling with the hw to talk 2 u? </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>FROM: </b>
    <strong>zuko </strong>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">(<b>11:08 pm) </b>I suppose not. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>TO: zuko </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:09 pm) </b>schweet. so whats up with u? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He decides to extend the conversation for a bit, hoping to get a snapchat out of Zuko before he invites him to the party. Reap the most for what he sows. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>FROM:</b> <b>zuko </b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:12 pm) </b>Nothing much. My uncle just made me watch some nature documentary with him before he went to sleep. Not my thing. Now I’m just in my room though. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he can stop to think about the potential embarrassment this may bring, Sokka decides to go in full throttle. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>TO:</b> <b>zuko</b></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:13 pm) </b>cute </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:13 pm) </b>whats ur snap btw? </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko takes a little longer to respond after that, and Sokka thinks that he may have ruined it. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>FROM: zuko </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:18 pm) </b>Um.. its @Zuko1234. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:18 pm) </b>Creative, I know. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka exits out of the messenger app and opens up his snapchat, adding Zuko swiftly. Zuko adds him back, and he receives a little red square a few moments later. He opens it, and is immediately in awe. Zuko is wearing a black cotton t-shirt, positioned so the camera only captures the unscarred portion of his face. There is a sleepy expression on his face, that makes Sokka want to cuddle him. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>FROM: Zuko1234</b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:21 pm) </b>Why ‘boomerangsokka?” </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is suddenly grateful he isn't wearing a shirt. Flirting would be easier if he wasn’t so anxious about the outcome, but he is still able to procure some of his more viable assets. He snaps a quick selfie and replies. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> <b>TO: Zuko1234 </b> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:23 pm) </b>long story. it involves me crashing my car though. i’ll tell you some other time. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>FROM: Zuko1234</b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:25 pm) </b>Can’t wait. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He shifts gears back to the messenger app, and decides to leave it all on the line. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1"><span class="s1"> <b>TO: zuko </b> </span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:27 pm.) </b>party at my place.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:27 pm.) </b>saturday nite</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><b>(11:27 pm.) </b>u in????</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The second the ‘yes’ text comes through, Sokka finds himself running to Katara’s room, shaking her awake, and jumping up and down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He really is Shameless, after all. </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- this is short and a bit of a filler but why not its cute!<br/>- my junior year of highschool this kid threw a party and somebody jumped off the roof and broke both his arms... shit happens</p><p>please leave some comments or a kudo if you enjoyed! it means so much to me</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Every Time Our Fingers Touched</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko has to take his Saturday night shift off in order to go to the party. Uncle doesn’t seem to mind in the slightest. In fact, he’s elated. He is constantly bringing the party up in casual conversation, and reiterating how happy he is that Zuko is finally making friends. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Is he really making friends? Zuko can’t tell. It’s been so long since he has had a real friend, and its hard to remember what that feels like. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Currently, Zuko is grappling with the insurmountable task of figuring out what to wear. He wants to look good, hoping blindly that Sokka may pay more attention to him if he succeeds. Sokka was just inviting him to be nice, Zuko reminds himself. Sokka was popular, and would probably not even notice his existence at this thing. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, he needs to look presentable. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Clothing is strewn across his floor, mainly in shades of grey and black. His eye lands on a maroon sweater, a bright spot in the dark, and pulls it over his head. It looks decent, he supposes, with his black jeans and Doc Martins. If he squints, he almost looks like a typical eighteen year old getting ready for a party, not a marred monster. He takes his palm and uses it to cover up his scarred eye, and looks in the mirror again. He looks normal, attractive almost. When he removes his hand, his heart breaks for the umpteenth time. He doesn’t have time to dwell on the scar tonight, he chides himself, tearing his gaze away from the mirror and walking out of his room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Uncle is waiting for him in the kitchen, playing a game of chess against himself. It was an obsession, constantly working out different strategies, and Zuko has never beaten him at a game. He supposes that this is what kept his uncle peaceful in the face of so much adversity last year, kept him calm when Azula was wreaking havoc on the household and Zuko refused to leave the house. No matter what, the chessboard would always be there. “Are you leaving?” he asks, looking at his nephew. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Uncle gets up from the table, placing his hands on Zuko’s shoulders. There is this look in his eyes, a sense of pride, and Zuko realizes that this event, going to a party, is the closest he has ever behaved like a regular kid whilst in the care of his uncle. “How are you getting there?” he asks, “You aren’t allowed to drive there yourself.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m walking,” he responds, wrestling himself out of Uncles death grip. “It’s only fifteen minutes away.” This is the truth, the address Sokka sent him is a short walk from the shop, which him and his uncle live above. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Would you like me to wait up for you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m okay, thanks.” He begins to head for the door, grabbing a small backpack to hold his personal belongings in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While his is putting on his winter coat, his uncle breaks the silence, saying, “I’m proud of you, Nephew. You’ve overcome a lot in the past year. You didn’t let it break you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Unable to respond, Zuko nods curtly, and heads out the door. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The walk to Sokka’s goes by as quick as expected, and before he knows it Zuko is standing in front of a small white house. There is a wrap around porch with a few rocking chairs, a neatly tended to garden, and a political sign advertising a green-party candidate that Zuko had never heard of before. A pride flag floats it the breeze, and Zuko softy smiles. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A faint hum of music and laughter can be heard from the outside, but not the loud thump of bass that he had grown accustomed to from other parties he had been too. It suddenly dawns on him that this is not a large event, but a small gathering filled with a few close friends. He will not be able to get comfortably lost in a crowd like he was hoping to, but would stand out as an outsider infiltrating a tight-knit group. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Why did Sokka invite him? He asks himself, unable to come up with a concrete answer. It had to be some sort of pity-invite, but why now? Why here? Why tonight? He just didn’t understand. He gulps, trying to ease his nerves, and rings the doorbell. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The first thing he sees when the door swings open and steps inside is the dog. It’s a massive fluffy white creature, bounding toward him, and knocking him to the hard-wood floor. Zuko feels a slimy tongue as the dog peppers him with kisses, and he can’t help but smile and rub the canines head. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Woah, woah,” Sokka’s voice calls out, “easy, Appa, easy. Lets not scare Zuko away so quickly, huh?” The Dog, Appa, gets off of Zuko at the sound of his owners voice, and Sokka walks towards him, offering a hand to help him up. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sheepishly, he takes it, cautiously getting to his feet. Their hands stay clasped together, lingering for a moment, until Zuko quickly pulls away. He doesn’t want to be weird. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You have dog hair all over you,” Sokka nervously says. “Im sorry about that.” His words are slurred, but he says them steadily. A mark of tipsiness. He isn’t quite drunk yet. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I do?” He looks down, and Sokka was right. White clumps of fur cover his sweater, and he makes his best attempt to brush them off. “It’s okay, I like dogs.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka smiles, and Zuko thinks that he could look at that smile for the rest of his life and never tire of it. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>There he goes, being weird again! </em>He really needs to stop having such gushy thoughts about somebody so out of his league. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good. Um, so make yourself at home. We are all gathered in the kitchen and the living room. Drinks are on the table, have whatever you want.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka leads him back into the main area, the house has an open floor plan, and the kitchen, living room, and dining room all are connected without a wall. There is a slew of alcohol sitting on the table, everything from a twenty pack of beers to spiked seltzer and vodka. Suki, the only person Zuko recognizes by name, is sitting on the table, legs wrapped around a stunningly gorgeous sliver-haired girl. She is wearing Suki’s leather jacket, bombarded with pins and iron-ons advertising girl bands he has never heard of, and they are kissing. He didn’t know Suki had a girlfriend, and his heart squeezes ever so slightly with jealously as he can see the shiny look of love in her eyes when she gazes at the girl. It’s something he wants, someone to belong with. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Over by the couch are the three other members of Sokka’s group. He registers them as sophomores, about his sisters age, by their loud laugher and apparent drunkenness so early in the night. A girl who looks almost identical to Sokka (his sister?) is on her phone, scrolling through something. She's connected to the speaker, Zuko concludes, as every time she taps her device the music changes from one bland pop song to an equally horrible rap one. He doesn’t recognize the music, but he wasn't one to listen to top-forty anyway. Her arm is around a boy with a buzz cut who is looking at her with dreamy eyes, like she's his whole world. Flanking the boys other side is a girl with short black hair, petting a grumpy looking cat that is perched on her lap. He doesn’t know quite why, but Zuko likes her immediately.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka coughs awkwardly, “sorry about the PDA.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the sound of his voice, Suki looks up, and hops off the table. Zuko can’t help but gape at how effortlessly cool she looks in a black tank-top and jeans, her hair messily cut. She has the punk thing going on, her ears and nose covered in piercings, something he wishes he could pull off. She saunters up to Sokka, and throws her arm over his shoulder. “You know you love it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In your dreams.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zuko!” She waves at him, a bright smile crossing her lips. “So nice of you to finally come out with us. Especially now, with Sokka singing your praises to anyone who can hear,” a bright flush crosses Sokka’s cheeks as Suki begins to address the group. “You guys! This is Zuko. He’s super chill. Zuko, this is my girlfriend, Yue. Over there are the little gremlins, Katara, Aang, and Toph. The cat’s name is Momo, and he may be cute, but he will bite your head off if you rub him the wrong way. He has this weird affinity for Toph, though.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Yue is the first to greet him, gingerly passing him a beer, which he is able to knock back rather quickly. He used to drink quite a lot, after everything happened. Sokka introduces him to Katara, who is in fact his sister. She holds him in her gaze for a little longer than whats is comfortable, and he feels her send him some sort of silent warning, but for what he doesn’t know. Luckily, he is able to move past her quickly, as he finds himself falling into an easy conversation with Toph, and the cat doesn’t seem to hate him as much as expected. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The group eventually ends up sitting around the kitchen table, playing shitty drinking games and getting way too wasted for their own good. In his own drunken haze, Zuko begins to think that he actually likes them quite a lot. They are funny, and welcoming. Well, except for that one <em>look </em>Katara gave him, but she seemed to ease up after that. Sokka is currently in the middle of trying to explain to him why exactly his Snapchat username was <em>boomerangsokka</em>, but he keeps getting distracted in the middle of the story, trailing off, and then starting all over again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was something along the lines of getting a boomerang thrown at him while he was driving, or him throwing the boomerang while behind the wheel. No matter where started, it ended with a crazy old man working at a marketplace calling the cops. Either way, Zuko thinks it’s one of the most entertaining things he’s ever heard. When Sokka tells the story, his eyes gleam and he makes crazy hand gestures, and there is a special solace in knowing that this is being told <em>just for him. </em>The rest of his friends were there when it happened, and are all chiming in with extra details or crazy non sequiturs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sober part of his brain tells him not to get use to this, as it will all be gone in the morning. These friends, especially Sokka, were not his to keep. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who wants to do a shot with me?” Toph exclaims. Sokka, Katara, and Suki volunteer, and Zuko finds himself stumbling over to the kitchen along with them to look for shot glasses even though he is four beers and one disgustingly flavored Four Loko deep. Sokka reaches up to the top shelf of the cabinet, and Zuko’s eyes can’t help but laser themselves onto the sliver of exposed back that appears when his shirt rides up. He passes around the glasses, and they count to three before throwing the vodka back. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The familiar sting fills his mouth and he grimaces. He was never one for hard liquor, and he’s feeling considerably wasted. A blurry Sokka takes another shot, and then makes a incredibly distressed face. “I forgot to walk Appa! He's probably so sad,” his blue eyes go wide and it looks like he is going to cry over the fate of the dog. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka, Appa does not need to be walked at midnight,” Katara chides, “look at him, he’s perfectly content.” She points at Appa, who is sleeping soundly on the floor with Momo. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No! He needs to be walked now!” Sokka exclaims, crossing his arms and making a extremely cute pouty face. Katara makes a show of rolling her eyes, but Zuko can tell that there is no malice behind the act, as she is just as amused with her older brothers antics as everyone else is. “Zuko! Come walk Appa with me! Please.” Sokka’s eyes are shining, and Zuko can’t help but give a befuddled nod and allow himself to be dragged over to the door, the poor dog in tow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before they leave, Katara pulls him over, a concerned look in her eyes. “Be good to him, please.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is too drunk and confused to make out what she means, only able to give an awkward nod in response before he is falling out of the door with Sokka. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They walk Appa down the block for a few seconds, until Sokka gives up and slumps down on the sidewalk. He lays out like a starfish, feet over the curb, and pats the space next to him for Zuko to sit. Zuko is unable to say no, and flops next to him without letting go of the dog leash. Appa doesn’t seem to mind the fact that they stopped, and curls up next to his owner. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The stars are so pretty.” Sokka slurs. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko had the incredibly cliche thought of, <em>no, you’re so pretty, </em>but he pushes it back despite his fuzzy brain begging him to let the words slip out. Sokka’s hair is falling out of his ponytail, the stray hairs framing his face in a perfect way, and his eyes are just so <em>blue,</em> pupils dilated and full of awe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This boy is going to be the death of him. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka reaches out to grab his leash-free hand, and Zuko gulps, trying to calm his racing heartbeat. The other boy doesn’t seem to notice his nerves, and takes their conjoined hands to point out the big dipper. “Tukturjuit,” he says. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tuk-tur-ju-what?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tukturjuit.” Sokka repeats, giggling hard. “I’m Inuit, ya know. It’s what we call the big dipper.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko feels so very drunk and stupid. “Oh.” The cold January air nips at his nose. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No problem man, I don’t think Katara even knows what it means. Right after my mom died, my dad took me out on the back porch and showed me all the constellations and what they are called. This one is supposed to look like a reindeer, the Greeks thought it was a bear.” He rolls over, pressing his nose against Zuko’s. “Me, though? I think it looks like a stupid fucking spoon.” </span>
</p><p class="p1"><span class="s1">Suddenly they’re cackling like Sokka said the funniest goddamn thing in the earth, and Zuko’s stomach hurts from laughter for the first time since <em>that night. </em></span> <b></b></p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey, do you wanna see my room?”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1"> <em>__________________</em> </span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka’s room is somehow a mix of everything Zuko expected and everything he didn’t. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What he expected were the multiple sports trophies on a bookshelf that contained little-to-no actual reading material and the copious amounts of photos of his friends plastered on the wall. His eye lands on a group photo that didn’t seem to be taken too long ago, all of them cramped together on the bleachers after a soccer game. Sokka is still in his uniform, his hair glossed back with sweat, a wide grin stretched across his face. Zuko’s eye lingers a little to long on his toned arms, which are cradling a disgruntled Katara. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The unexpected, however, its truly surprising. Sokka has a collection of snow globes, each with a little label attached that names the place it came from and who gifted it to him. Also, there is a plethora of band posters stretched from wall to wall, all of mostly queer artists. His finger drags across a Steve Lacy poster, before Sokka’s voice brings him out of his stupor. “Cool digs, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko hums in agreement. Sokka is looking in the mirror, pulling his hair back up, having to re-do the ponytail quite a few times because he keeps stumbling midway through. When he finishes, he sits down on the edge of the bed, motioning for Zuko to follow suit. When he does, Sokka turns to look at him quizzically. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I just don’t get you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Huh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You- you- you’re just so aloof. Like… what gives?” Sokka blushes. “Sorry, words are hard. I’m fuzzy. No! You’re fuzzy. I’m drunk. Um, like, you are just so cool. And nobody knows anything about you! I know what you told me, and that your uncle owns The Jasmine Dragon, but nothing else. People say that you moved here from California, but some other people say they were sure it was Kentucky… and…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Illinois,” His brain stupidly supplies. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you. But seriously, nobody knows anything! I keep asking, and it’s all radio silence. Also, you don’t have like any social media. Whats up with that? And I…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Record scratch. Freeze frame. What? Sokka continues to ramble on, but Zuko’s mind is occupied elsewhere. “You… you ask people about me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka looks a bit diffident, averting his eyes to the carpet. “Uh yeah.. I mean I was flirting with you pretty blatantly over Snap the other night, so.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dam breaks. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko isn’t sure who initiated it, but suddenly there is a pair of warm lips against his, and he is pressed against the wall, Sokka straddling him, kissing him ever so desperately. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His head is digging into the wall in a way that is far from comfortable, but he is too goddamn happy to do anything about it. He never wants this to end. He lets out a whine - an honest to God whine - and Sokka reacts instantly, pressing his arm up behind Zuko’s head, providing a sort of muscly pillow. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko cradles Sokka’s face in his hands, kissing him openmouthed, messily and deeply. Sokka pulls away, moving to his neck, biting him long and hard in a way that Zuko knows is going to leave a mark tomorrow. He moans, moving his hands up to pull the hair-tie out Sokka’s dark locks. Hands fumble to his jeans, moving the zipper down, down, down. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This is what heaven feels like, the melodramatic part of his mind says. God, he hasn’t been kissed like this since… </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, he is catapulted back to October of sophomore year. Jets lips between his thighs, slick with sweat on the lawn chair by the pool, his fathers yells, and Azula’s nervous laugh when the hot tongs were pulled out and pressed against his eye. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His body is ignited, and he shoves Sokka away from him blindly. He lets out an “oof,” crashing down on the mattress. Zuko stands, zipping up his pants, rage radiating off his body. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What did I-“ Sokka looks up at him, tears welling up in those beautiful blue eyes of his. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sorry. I can’t.” He was so foolish to believe that he could do something like this, the alcohol providing a false sense of shelter. He could never do this again, there were too many memories, too much shame. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turns on his heel and storms out of the room, leaving Sokka behind him. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>- who me? dragging up repressed memories of a manic pixie dream girl who played me so so many years ago? never.<br/>- four loko is gross you can fight me there<br/>- breaking canon to make momo sassy bc my cat walked on the keys a billion times while i was writing this</p><p>please please please leave a comment or a kudos if you enjoyed it!</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Standing in the Open Light</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>this simply took so long because writing iroh is so hard. i know everyone says its hard, but i wasn't expected it to be THAT hard</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko stops coming in to tutor Sokka. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He is swiftly replaced, Sokka’s new tutor being a boy in a wheelchair named Teo. He’s nice enough, giving helpful pointers and correcting Sokka’s grammar mistakes in essays, but there is a clear emptiness present. It takes the form of a nagging voice in Sokka’s head, constantly asking what he did to scare Zuko away. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kiss was good. Sokka knew that much. However, the few minutes of electricity he received were sufficiently dampened by the look of horror on Zuko’s face when he pulled away. How he had shifted so quickly from eager to repulsed, shoving Sokka from him and bolting from the party. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maybe Zuko was straight, and it was an alcohol induced kiss. Maybe the second he realized exactly who he was kissing he was disgusted, and the shame was what was making him avoid Sokka. All of these thoughts made his stomach churn. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">How could he have fucked this up so badly? </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sokka, you need to eat something.” Katara is standing in the door frame, a sour look on her face. She is dressed like a slob, all Nike shorts and unbrushed hair, yet still looks more put together than he does. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He groans, flipping her off. “I ate a bowl of oatmeal for breakfast this morning. You were too busy face-timing Aang to notice! I’m not depressed or anything - also, haven't you heard of knocking before entering?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s Saturday, one week since the party, and Sokka thinks his friends (well, mostly Katara) have had enough of his self-depreciating bullshit by now. It was just a silly crush, a failed fling, and Sokka was going around like somebody had killed Momo. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fine. You may have ate breakfast, but I made ramen. You want some?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods eagerly and follows her to the kitchen, never one to turn down food. There are two bowls ready on the table, and Sokka thinks that his sister probably would've force fed him if he had refused earlier. Once they are seated, he notices that Katara is sporting the look on her face that she only gives when she badly wants to give someone advice. “Just get on with it,” he says, bracing himself for a good bout of mothering. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I think you should talk to him.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, what?” This is not at all what he was expecting her to say. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Katara takes a long sip from her bowl, not meeting his eyes. “I mean, like, yeah. You should talk to him. This doesn’t mean I’m not incredibly over you mooning over this guy twenty-four seven, because I am, but I can tell you really like this guy. And, at the party, he seemed to like you too. Plus, he’s not bad company in general.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He’s a bit shocked that Katara hadn’t told him to get his head out of his ass, but this is a welcome surprise. He wants to talk to Zuko, find out what went wrong, try to make it better. He just doesn’t know how. “What should I do?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I don’t know, go to The Jasmine Dragon. Just <em>talk </em>to him Sokka, it’s not rocket science or anything,” she rolls her eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Remember when it took you a full week to talk to Aang after he asked you to homecoming and you rejected him even though you really wanted to go?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shoves him a little too hard. “I told you to NEVER bring that up again.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He winks at his sister. “Sorry, sorry. <em>It’s not rocket science or anything.</em>”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>__________________</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ends up at The Jasmine Dragon. It’s busy today, a weekend afternoon, and he has to park a minutes walk away. The inside of the shop is filled with patrons, and a kind of scary girl with bangs is behind the cash register, much to his dismay. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When it’s finally his time to order, he cuts straight to the chase, asking “Is Zuko here?” The girl stares back at him, a picturesque image of blankness. He’s never seen her before, but she looks about his age, maybe a little younger. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. He’s in his room.” She replies. Her voice is so monotone, and Sokka vaguely wonders if the Siri installed in his phone is more expressive than her. “Are you going to order, or are you just going to gape at me all day?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He clamps his lips shut, realizing he probably looks like a fish gulping for air. The girl smirks, and begins to talk to the customer behind him. <em>Well, that was a bust,</em> he think dejectedly, turning on his heel to walk out of the store. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A gentle hand on his shoulder stops him, and Sokka eyes meet the kind brown ones of portly old man. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You must be Sokka,” the man crows. Sokka would be concerned by this random old dude knowing his name if it weren't for apron with the logo of the tea shop on it. This is Zuko’s uncle. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He nods his head numbly, “Yes, sir. That’s me.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No need for formality. You can just call me Iroh. Care to have a cup of tea with me?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>This is kinda weird, </em>thinks the rational part of his brain. However, the irrational part of him is begging for him to go, to find out why Zuko’s uncle of all people knows his name and wants to talk to him. So, he goes along with it, and finds himself at a small table in the back of the kitchen, sharing a cup of hot tea with the man. It’s oolong, which Iroh informs him is his nephews favorite. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The kitchen is tiny, a lot smaller than Sokka would've expected, but it’s filled to the brim with tea. Jasmine, green, milk, and plenty of tapioca to make their bestselling bubbles. A staircase is located towards the back of the room, leading up to a door. Zuko and his uncle must live above the shop. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see you’ve met Mai,” Zuko’s uncle says, taking a sip of his drink. “She’s a family friend staying with us for the weekend. She comes up once a month or so to visit Zuko’s sister.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka doesn’t really know how to respond, so he just nods awkwardly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Iroh chuckles, glancing down at his hands. “Now, you’re probably wondering why I wanted to speak with you. I just, well, there is certainly no easy way to say this. I am very glad that Zuko has made a friend, and you seem like a nice young gentleman. However, it has come to my understanding that Zuko has been distancing himself from others this week.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Suddenly, the grout between the tiles on the floor is very interesting to Sokka. This feels personal, this feels raw. He can imagine the horror Zuko would feel if he knew that this was taking place, and feels a tad bit guilty for going behind his back like this, even if it was all his uncles idea. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Zuko has had a very troubled past, and sometimes lashes out against the people who care about him. I hope that you will give my boy a second chance.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course,” the words slip out easily this time. “There is no question about that Sir- um- Iroh.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko’s uncle smiles and takes a sip of his tea. Sokka knows that despite his rather unconventional methods, this man clearly cares deeply for his nephew. It warms his heart, knowing that Zuko has a strong support system to help him through whatever he was going through. He opens his mouth to say just that, but is interrupted by a rather harsh cough behind him. Zuko is walking down the stairs, a picture of bedraggled beauty. He is in a pair of gray sweatpants <em>(lord help him)</em>, a black sweatshirt, and a bed head that could rival Appa’s fur after he takes a bath. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His face is flushed bright red, a mix of embarrassment and apparent shame. Eyes puffy and red, it looks like he has been crying. Sokka’s heart clenches. “Sokka, what are you doing here?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I am having tea with your friend,” Iroh pipes in before Sokka can offer up an explanation. “He is a very proper young man. I am glad you two are acquainted.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Now it is Sokka’s turn to sport a furious blush, and he is sure he looks like a ripe tomato. Iroh gives a knowing grin, and leaves the kitchen to help with the flow of customers out front. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko speaks next. “Do you want to go for a drive?” </span>
</p><p class="p1"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">__________________</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They end up in Sokka’s car. It’s a silent agreement, and the walk there was quiet and rather uncomfortable in his opinion, all awkward silence and fumbling hands. Once inside, he focuses on his phone, fiddling for a proper playlist on Spotify. It’s harder than it looks, as no song selection really screams <em>‘hey, we like totally made out in my room the other day and then you ignored me but now you want to talk?’ </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He supposes a bit of Anderson Pak won’t hurt. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko looks a proper nervous wreck, yet is still one of the cutest boys Sokka has ever laid his eyes on. How does he do it? Sokka manages to pry his eyes away and is about to put the car in drive when Zuko’s raspy voice interrupts him, “Hey. Can I kiss you?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His heart sputters and stops like a broken car engine. He barely makes out a nod before a pair of warm lips are colliding against his. Its softer than the other kiss they shared, a bit more timid, lots of words left unsaid. But it’s good, and it’s kind, and if it weren't for the guilt niggling in the back of his brain it would be perfect. He has to get on that, so he breaks away from the kiss, and begins to drive in order to ignore the temptation of leaning back in. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Noticing the silence emanating from the passenger seat, he tries to soothe Zuko’s worries by saying, “Don’t worry. I enjoyed that. But, um, talk first. Kiss later. That okay?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mhm-hm.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sweet. That implied a future kiss. Ten points to Gryffindor. <em>(God, he has to stop thinking about Harry Potter in any sort of positive connotation. Fuck J.K Rowling.) </em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ends up driving them to Omashu National Park. It is sort of auto-pilot for him, as he and Suki frequent the place to smoke weed uninterrupted. The parking lot that leads to the trails is sort of infamous for the high school, getting dubbed ‘make-out point.’ Sokka is suddenly very aware of this fact as he parks the car, and prays to dear lord that Zuko isn’t aware of the locations nickname. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Luckily enough, he isn’t. Zuko looks out the window, all wide eyed and full of awe. “It’s pretty here,” he notes quietly. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka can’t help but agree, the view is very pretty. All mountains and blue sky and cute boy in gray sweatpants. However said cute boy had ghosted him for the entire week, which was putting a bit of a damper on the mood. “So, we have to talk.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko gulps. “I suppose that we do.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Why did you run off on me like that? I mean, I don’t think I’m <em>that </em>terrible of a kisser, if I am please save me the humiliation and don’t tell me. Wait- but you wanted to kiss me again? So, what gives?” He shuts himself off before he runs his mouth for twenty minutes straight. Ramble City, population Sokka. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko fiddles his hands. “It’s. It’s kind of a lot.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I can handle it.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He takes a look at the boy in his passenger seat, whose eyes are very much still red and puffy. <em>Oh. So this is serious. </em>Sokka can do serious, he may not seem like it, but he can. “Listen, Zuko. I- I really like you, okay? Like a lot. And I know thats embarrassing and stuff because I haven’t even taken you on a proper date or anything yet, but I want to listen. I want to know. If you’re ready to talk, that is. If not, thats okay too. We can just take it slow. Just don’t ignore me for a week again.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No. I’m ready.” Zuko begins, eyes downcast. “So you know how I told you my sister and I moved in with my uncle around last year?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka nods. “Yeah, you’re dad was a major dick-head, right?” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. I was not the favorite child by any means. Azula was, and my father constantly gave her praise while punishing me. I think it was because I reminded him of my mother, who killed herself when I was about eight years old.” He lets out a shaky breath, running his fingers through his inky black hair. “Sorry. I- I haven’t told anyone about this really. My sophomore year, when I was sixteen, I sort of fell into a tumultuous relationship with this guy, Jet. He was kind of a shitty person, liked to shoplift and stuff, but he was good enough to me. I mean, I don’t really deserve like a great guy or anything, so it worked.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t say stuff like that.” Sokka says on autopilot, despite trying his hardest not to interrupt with a serious of expletives about how horrible this all sounded. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, thank you. Anyways, one night, when I was sure my father was at work, I invited Jet over. One thing led to another and we were having sex out in the back by the pool. Azula saw through her bedroom window, she was having a sleepover or something with her friends Mai and Ty Lee. It was totally my fault, If I had known that she could see down there It never would’ve happened in the first place, my little sister does not need to see a thing like that, gross. And, um, she called my dad. He came home right away, caught us in the act. Jet obviously left, my father was furious, threatening to kill him and stuff.” Zuko sniffs, wiping his eyes. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sokka reaches out, grabbing his hand and giving it a little squeeze, coaxing him to continue on. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He took the tongs from the barbecue, and put them on my eye. Thats why I have this scar.” He glosses over the words quickly, but Sokka’s mind trips over them and lands there. “So, Uncle sued for custody, and we live with him now. Dads in jail, but for monetary reasons. He’s a fraud. Thats why I ditched you the other night. I haven’t, um, gotten with anyone since that night, and I got a bit scared.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Your dad… burned your face.” Sokka says dumbly, trying more to process the fact than anything else. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Zuko unclasps their hands. “I know. It’s hideous.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No! It’s not hideous. That’s not what I meant. I meant- that’s horrible. He’s horrible! Oh my God Zuko, oh my God.” He feels his eyes begin to well up with tears, but he wills it away. He isn’t the one who needs comfort right now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their eyes finally meet, Zuko peering through his bangs at just the right moment. Golden brown and watery, tears stream down his cheeks. There are no words, nothing in Sokka’s incredibly expansive vocabulary that he can say in order to make this right. This is wrong, so wrong. Sokka can’t believe he was ever even upset at the other boy for running out on him. He pulls Zuko into a tight hug, the shorter boy pressing his face into his shoulder blades. Sokka runs his fingers through Zuko’s hair, comforting him as best he can. “It’s okay. I’m here.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Thank you.” Zuko chokes out. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Any time. Any time.”</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p3">
  <span class="s1">__________________</span>
</p><p class="p4"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Three months later, Sokka is holding his boyfriends hand as he meets Azula. The three of them talk, listen to a bit of music, and play a competitive game of go-fish that Azula simply dominates at. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It’s messy, and a bit raw. </span>
  <span class="s1">But Honestly? Sokka wouldn’t have it any other way. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yaaayyy the end!!! </p><p>i want to do some oneshots in this universe. that cool with everyone?</p><p>please leave a comment and a kudos if you liked it, it means so much.</p><p>UPDATE: <br/>SEQUEL IS UP!! SUPER CUTE ONESHOT OF THEM DATING AND BEING SOFT &lt;333</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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